Into the Friend Zone
by Nigel Yearning
Summary: 1 of 10. She bumped into an old friend who remembers her, but she didn't remember him. Oneshot.


_02 July 2038_

The job of the bagman was to move cash around, and that was it. Nothing complicated or anything. Just collecting the dough from spots where the sellers from the drug dealer's network hid their money. Bright Harbor had more than enough customers, so finding buyers weren't an issue. The problem was making sure the money gets to where it needs to go. Cops were around every corner. Rival gangs occupy every street. The smart ones always made sure their supply was either well hidden or disguised. The even smarter ones took the latter route, giving the City Council a false sense of accomplishment. All that the dealers need to worry now was to make sure the money was secured, or it would be all for nothing.

One bagman, a raccoon in his late teens, was hauling such a load through the back alleys of the city. Nothing but bright LED street lamps snuffing out the stars above. He leaped over a chain-linked fence, slid across a dumpster, then dropped on his feet before breaking into a sprint. The bagman pressed himself against the brick wall and held his breath. No rumblings of cars. No buzzing of surveillance drones. This was the ghetto part of town after all, which had doubled in size within the past twenty years. The raccoon broke into a jog and emerged into a parking lot. Some of the streetlights were shot out and hadn't been replaced, giving the parking lot a dim feel. The only car was an old four door SUV with tinted windows that was parked facing the back wall.

He slowed and rested his hands on his knees. Already he had avoided a rival gang's grunt patrol. So far he hadn't seen a single blue patrol. So far things were in the clear. The raccoon straightened his back and scratched his whiskers, just not that much further now. Once he reached the bossman's place he could then dump the bag and get home before someone sniffs him out.

The high beams and the light bar on the Tahoe lit up. Bright, blazing light pinned the bagman in place. Tires screeched. The bagman raised an arm as the Tahoe charged for him. He kicked back, losing his footing. The Tahoe veered to the side as the driver-side door flung open, slamming into him head on. The bagman rolled across the parking lot as the black sky lit up with stars.

**. . .**

Borow drove the Tahoe back down to the better part of town. It was an old car. Had to be around thirty years old with 200,000ish miles on it. She bought the car about ten years ago off of a used car dealer and invested a lot of money to get it back to peak performance, then invested more money into aftermarket products to suit her liking. A light bar on the roof for extra visibility at night. Bulletproof plating on all four doors, plus even more plating in the trunk door. All-terrain tires plus 4x4 capability. A HAM radio with antennas. High quality antennas, mind you. No cheap material here. Borow made sure the whole vehicle was painted black with a glistening clear coat finish to make the vehicle look new, as the blue stock paint wasn't as sharp as it used to be. The brakes were redone to a high-quality system including a hydraulic e-brake for those hard turns. The whole car had it all, pretty much built to be self-sufficient.

Borow made a turn and passed a gas station. Prices were around four and half dollars per gallon. She chuckled. Her vehicle was a hybrid. It had that V8 along with the Lithium-based electric engine. Solar panels built into the roof for trickle charging on the sunny days. Everything else was supplemented by the gas engine. One day it will be all electric, but that was more or less a pipe dream.

Borow checked the fuel gauge. About half empty. Better empty the gas cans into the tank and cycle them out. She made a mental note to do that tomorrow morning.

She pulled into a hotel, threw the gear into park and closed her eyes. Each skirmish with the gangs were always stressful. So many unknown factors to take into account. It was gambling. Funny, of all the ways she could earn a living in this harsh world, this was the way to go. No way she could justify stealing from those who profit off of people's drug addiction. Stealing was stealing no matter who the people were. But who cares, really? No one, except the bagman who would probably be clocked by his boss once he found out that he had lost the dough. Borow made sure she hit him hard enough so that he wouldn't remember shit, assuming he wouldn't bleed out through his head that is.

_Not my problem._

Borow climbed into the back and opened and opened up the backpack. She pulled out her tactical light and set it to the moonbeam mode, then opened up the bag and thumbed each and every dollar. It was a mess of twenties, tens, a few hundreds and fifties. Most of it was wadded and smelled like musk. Typical drug money smell. Borow counted around seven grand. A big payout for a small venture. That should be enough for food and gas for six months, which was good enough.

Borow threw the money in the backpack, zipped it up and stuck it in the compartment in the floorboard. It will be safe there until she could get it sorted later tomorrow morning.

She threw the passenger side door and hopped out, then did a 360 degree spin. No perbs, civis, or blues standing around looking stupid. A preferred scenario for any night, which means there wasn't anything to worry about.

Until the fox came stepping out of the manager's office.

He was weathered, wearing a sleeveless shirt with a sheep tattoo on one arm. He had a patch over his left eye, almost like a pirate. Too old to be a thug, too young to be a bossman for a thug gang. He was no threat. Just another working-class joe earning an honest living.

Borow locked up her car and fished out a key for her motel room. She reached out over the electronic lock, getting ready to swipe.

"Mae?!"

She jumped and spun around. The fox came walking over to her. A little too fast, but his face held the look of recognition. "Mae, it's me! Gregg Lee? You remember me, don't you?"

Borow stuck the card back into her pocket. Red flags and alarm bells rang inside her head. No one should know her name by heart. Everyone who knew her knew her as "Borow" and not Mae or Mabel. The fact that this Gregg knew was a worst case scenario. Her worst nightmare coming true.

Gregg cocked his head, his one eye glistened under the lightning. Borow scanned for more half-wits eavesdropping. No one in sight, but there could be more hiding around the corners. Potential ambush. Someone or something had tracked her. Not from robbing the bagman earlier. Something wasn't adding up. No way could this guy be part of a gang, unless he was a cop. Then again, why would a cop give himself away like that? Again, know one knew her first name, let alone her full last name.

This shall not stand.

"Mae, don't you recognize me?"

She slipped her hand into the back of her pants, then pulled out a gun. It was a .22 Sig Sauer pistol with a 45-angle Glock grip. Gregg's one eye bulged. The color of his face draining into a white hue. "Whoa!"

Borow narrowed her gaze, and with a calm voice, spoke. "Who are you and how the hell did you know me!?"

"Geez, Mae, I'm your friend! From when we're growing up!?"

"Oh?"

"Yeah, in Possum Springs! Don't you remember!?"

Borow said, "Get on the ground, hands where I can see them!"

"Mae, please!"

She pulled back the slide. "Okay, now I have the safety turned off. On the fucking pavement! Now! With your hands spread out!"

Gregg dropped on the ground and spread out his arms.

"Are you armed?"

"Yes."

"With what weapon?"

"A couple of knives."

"Pull them out, throw them on the pavement in front of you. Throw them at me and I'll clock you and pull them out myself. Pull out anything other than what you stated and I'll clock you twice. Do I make myself clear?"

Gregg yipped. "Yes! Yes!"

Borow stepped to the left, keeping the gun trained at his forehead. Gregg reached toward his back pocket and pulled out his first knife. The knife was orange and scratched to hell. Well used and sentimental. He tossed it on the pavement in front of him and then pulled out another knife. A cheaper knife. Also scratched to hell. A backup perhaps. Gregg threw the knife with the other one and placed his hands on his head.

"I'm amazed you're still alive, Gregg, people who carry knives and no firearms don't last that long out here."

"I can't afford a gun!"

"Give me one good reason not to assume you're either an informant or an undercover officer."

Gregg sobbed. "We used to do crimes together back in high school, with Casey!"

"I don't know any Casey."

"He disappeared not long after you did! Oh, god, Mae, it was a hard time! You went off to college and I was trying to save up money with Angus and-"

Borow jogged up and kicked him on the side. The fox helped as he rolled over onto his back.

"I don't know who this Angus is and I haven't been in college for five years so you either have to come up with something quick or I'll be hauling your cooling corpse into the sea."

Gregg broke out a sob with real tears. "Please, Mae! I haven't seen you in so long. I don't have any friends left! There was a tornado that destroyed everything, killed most of everyone! Why don't you remember me, Mae? What has happened to you!?"

Okay, this dumbshit wasn't a cop or a goon. Goons spit out random nonsense while undercover cops keep a cool-headed response. That reminded her. Borow checked his socks, sometimes undercover blues would forget to change their black socks to civilian ones. They were brown, which meant something. "Gregg, what material are your socks made out of."

"Wool, like, 80 percent. They're thin merino wool from the camping store."

The red flags changed to yellow. Goons don't wear wool. Too expensive to buy in bulk.

"Okay, Gregg, today's your lucky night but you're not out of the woods yet. Did you drive here or walk?"

"I walked, I work here as a janitor."

Borow scanned her surroundings a second time. Still no soul. "Okay, you and I are going to take a little trip. And then, once we're out of sight, I'm going to tell you what you need to know and then you're going to tell me everything. If you pull any tricks out of your ass, then don't expect to see the sun tomorrow morning. You got that?"

"Yes, Mae! Whatever you want, just please don't hurt me! I would never hurt you!"

**. . .**

The best way to hogtie a person was to use duct tape. Thick duct tape with extra adhesive. Borow used it to tape Gregg's hands and feet together before dropping him in the Tahoe's hatchback compartment. She recovered his knives and dropped them on the floor of the front passenger seat, then fished out Gregg's wallet from his pants. State ID, no driver's license. He was 41-years-old, just a year older than her. Organ donor too, not that it mattered. According to his ID, his home wasn't that far off so Gregg was telling the truth. She stuck his ID on her dashboard, started up the car, and drove to the address. All through the while keeping an eye out for goons and blues, assuming they had indeed caught wise of her mini heist.

Borow knew every street in Bright Harbor by heart. It took her two years to memorize them all. If memory comes to serve, then Gregg lived in a small, compact neighborhood with small yards. No HOA. Little to no street lamps. She wouldn't say it was a lower income neighborhood, maybe a bit borderline. She drove into the subdivision and realized it was an older neighborhood that had been built in the 1960's. The City Council was planning to bulldoze the whole neighborhood and rezone them for high-density apartments to combat the booming population growth. So far that hadn't occurred due to a tight budget. Borow scanned the streets. She recalled some medium-ranked goons lived around here. Blues might also be staking out those houses. Better keep a low profile.

Gregg's house was a small one. Like, compact. Just a single story house with a one-car garage. The paint was peeling and the grass was going dry. Borow backed into the driveway and killed the engine. "Is that garage door either electric or manual?"

"Electric," Gregg wheezed. "Code is the same number as the house."

"Really, Gregg?"

"I have trouble remembering too, you know!"

Borow stepped out of her car and typed in the code on the keypad with her knuckle. The garage door opened up, revealing a workshop setup. Gregg didn't have much. Just a bare workbench that stretched across the back wall with a handful of tools hanging off the peg board. Promising though. It might be useful at some point.

Borow then got back in and backed her Tahoe in, then killed the engine. She then closed the garage door and waited till it was shut, then opened up the hatchback. "Okay, to your living room, or the equivalent."

She picked up one of Gregg's knives and sliced off the tape. He then scrambled out and collapsed onto the floor. Borow had her gun out and ready as she ushered him into the house. The door led to a conjoined kitchen and living room, all the blinds were drawn and a few lights were on. The kitchen was a disaster. Fast food wrappers, beer bottles, and soda cans covered the countertops, and whatever dishes the fox had were piling up in the sink. The trash can was overflowing with crap spilled around it. The coffee table also had a lot of junk. Gregg kept his hands up as he sat down as Borow checked the front and back doors, keeping the gun trained on him as she flipped on the porch lights. "Anybody else living here?"

"No," he said. "Just me."

"You have any other family and friends?"

"I have a cousin who lives two houses down."

"This cousin of yours isn't going to pop in without knocking?"

"No."

Borow grabbed the kitchen chair and dragged it to the living room. She sat down and fished out a joint and a windproof lighter from her pocket. It was a brown lighter, customized with some hemp wick wrapped around the base. She undid some of the wick and lit it, then used that to light the tip of the joint. Gregg cocked his head as she sucked in the joint, breathing out a lungful of smoke. Borow dropped the lighter back into its pouch. She held the gun in one hand. The joint in the other.

"Alright, start talking. I have all night so take your time."

Gregg's one eye blinked. "Umm, okay. I don't know where to begin. We've met some time after elementary school, I believe and we, along with Casey, go in and do crimes."

"What kind of crimes?"

"Just kids stuff, you know. Slashing tires, breaking and stealing stuff."

"Kids stuff, yeah, I can believe that." Borow breathed in a puff of weed. "Anything else?"

Gregg bit his lip. "You left for college after high school, about two years later a storm rolled in."

"What kind of storm?"

The fox squeezed his one eye shut. He dug his fingernails into his knees, trying to fire off whatever neuron that held that ancient memory. "Big, lots of wind and rain. So big that it had a tornado. A big one."

"A tornado wiped out Possum Springs?"

He ran his hands down his face. "Everything. People. Buildings. Everything got destroyed. The only reason I survived was because I wasn't in town when it happened. I was being chased."

"By who?"

"I dunno, guys in bed sheets? I never found out. It was by the railroad tracks, I was looking for clues to where Casey went because the homeless said he was last seen there. I was going to ask around when two guys in white robes tried to ambush me. One of them had a rifle. I had my crossbow. I ran."

Gregg leaned back, curled himself into a ball. A tear trailed down his one-eye. Borow holstered her gun. Her bullshit detector hadn't trip. He was just some joe after all. A joe with a sad history and a bitter fate.

"And what happened?"

Gregg wiped a tear off his face. "I shot both of them."

"Both?"

"One in the neck, the other in the head. After that I tripped and sprained my ankle in a ditch. I hit my head on the way down."

He was getting more comfortable now, getting settled in. Borow thumbed the safety on the pistol and stuffed it back into her pants. No need for it anymore.

Borow held up the joint. "Want a puff?"

"No," Gregg looked up at her. "Funny, I don't recall you smoking. Bea always smoked. You remember Bea?"

"No."

Borow held the joint with her teeth as she walked over to the kitchen and opened the fridge. Nothing but pop inside, and lots of it. Borow grabbed a can, cracked one open, and downed mouthful of fizz. Gregg's one eye watched her the whole way. He can be trusted. No doubt about that.

She returned to the chair as she let the chemical burn do its work. "How long were you out?"

"About a few hours, or maybe overnight. It was pretty late when I got jumped. I think I slept on the ground the whole night. I felt sick and tired. I thought I was dying. I turned up toward the sky and saw the thick greenish clouds, and then I heard the faint roar of the tornado."

"You saw the twister?"

"North of me. It was all covered in dust and rain. It was just leaving the place where Possum Springs should be."

Borow asked, "What did you do?"

"I just stood there. Don't know why. My head was hurting so I wasn't in any shape to think. I stared at the twister for what had to be a few minutes, then I recovered the gun. It was a nice rifle. I stashed it somewhere far from the bodies. I planned on coming back to get it. I wiped it down for fingerprints, then left for home."

"What was home like?"

Gregg stared off at the black screen of his TV. "Chaos. 2x4s were strewn everywhere like toothpicks, along with loose bricks and power lines. Trash everywhere. Green leaves everywhere. People screaming. The downed power lines were flashing like in the cartoons. I couldn't find a single building that was left standing. Everything was gone. Everything was gone or in rubble."

"Were there bodies?"

"More than plenty. People were out digging out the living and dead as I stroll by. There were some bodies that were laid out in bedsheets. I just look away. I knew those people."

Borow sipped her soda. "Hard to process, wasn't it?"

"Harder to think back, I'm not even sure what I did."

"But what was the parts that you were sure you did?"

"I walked into your street first, just to check up on Bea. She was your best-friend in the eighth grade."

"What was this Bea like?"

"Moody, goth-like. Her mother passed away from cancer and her father broke down, they had to move into an apartment just down the street from your house. On that day, though. There weren't any houses, just rubble, and fire. A gas line had broke and caught fire. All the houses were burning. Yours too."

Gregg went silent, the drone of the air conditioner echoed throughout the room. Borow peeked outside, checking for goons and blues. No one out there, so far.

"Anybody survived?"

"Both your parents died, they were trapped in the basement when the house collapsed on top of them, and then the fire rolled in."

Borow said nothing.

"Do you remember your parents?"

"We'll get to that. Just who survived?"

"Germ, I mean, Jeremy Warton. One of my friends I hung out with way back. He survived. His house was outside of Possum Springs and it missed the tornado. He was just strolling in as I reached Bea's house. I thought the fire was spreading and she was somewhere in the rubble. Her car was still there, well, on its roof that is. We both teamed up to dig her out of her home."

"And what did you find?"

"We found her foot sticking out over some debris. She must've rushed in for cover but got trapped. I used the scissors jack from her car to prop up some debris so we can pull her body out. She was cold stiff and she had blood crusting her nose and mouth. She was squished to death."

"And her father?"

Gregg said nothing.

"Was it bad?"

"I rather not talk about it. He survived, but," Gregg shook his head. "Mae, I lost everybody. Or I thought I lost everybody, and then you turned up after all these years. But what happened to you? Why don't you remember me? Or anything from Possum Springs?"

Tears were flowing from that eye now. Heavy tears. Borow wasn't someone who could comfort. She could deal with reality. No amount of sugar coating will suppress the bitter truth. This Greggory Lee survived a catastrophe and still feels bitter about it after all this time. Borow sipped her coke. She squished the end of her joint against the can to snuff it out, then tossed it into the trash can. "How long ago did this happen?"

"Twenty years ago. Autumn of 2017."

Twenty years? Sheesh. That should be more than enough time to get over a great deal like that. Problem was Gregg had too much baggage. Too many eggs in one basket as a matter of fact. Foxy wasn't ready, he wasn't one of those people who could handle the end of everything, let alone the destruction of his hometown. What was he doing after all that time had passed? Wallowing in his own filth while feeling sorry for himself? Couldn't he just move on and just accept what had happened?

Borow said, "Look, I know I've gotten paranoid back there, but I have to. In my line of work, I have to stay alert. I have to assume that someone was out to get me. The fact that you spoke my name set me off because no one should know me by that name at all. They all know me as Borow. I assumed you were a cop who looked me up on the database somewhere. I had to take action as a precaution."

Gregg asked, "Where are you living now?"

"In my Tahoe, I don't have a permanent address. I stay mobile, sometimes I leave the city to go traveling."

"So no home, no relationship of any kind?"

"Nothing. Just me. No job. No house. I don't have anything that I need to pay bills or taxes for."

"That almost sounded like the Mae I remember, except she would've been homesick."

"No home to be sick of, that's for sure."

"That's not what I meant."

Borow stepped up to Gregg and sat on the couch beside him. "Okay, Greggory. Now I'm getting curious. The earliest memory I do remember is just waking up in bed wondering what I was doing. I felt like crap. I pretty much sat up and just got down to business."

"Business?"

"Living, being alive. The important priorities."

"You have any dreams? Dreams at all?"

"All I dream of is watching the world burn, as it is getting hard for me to do what I do."

Gregg said, "What do you do?"

Borow cocked her head to one side. "I wander."

She reached out and pulled the eyepatch up. Gregg flinched and held her breath. His eyelids over what should be his left eye were squished together. A sign that there wasn't anything in there at all.

"That's gotta be very uncomfortable."

"You can say that again."

"How did you lose it?"

Gregg said, "I tried to save Angus. He was buried in the rubble where our apartment used to be. I grabbed a power line and it sparked. Something got lit and exploded and I got hit hard in my eye socket.

"You poor thing."

Borow put the eyepatch back down and ran her hand through his fur. The fox just held his ground and stared off into space. It was almost as if he had shutdown. Maybe he did shutdown. Borow snapped her fingers in his ear. He didn't flinch, just sat there like a statue. Looks like his mind ran out of RAM and locked itself up, best give him time to reboot. Then again, she had heard enough. There wasn't anything more she could squeeze out of him.

**. . .**

Borow explored the rest of the house and checked every drawer and closet. His bedroom was an even worse situation. Clothes were strewn out all over the place and the bed was unmade. She pulled the comforter back and shined her tactical light on the sheets. Yeah, those need to be changed. The bathroom was even more of a disaster. The sink and toilet was stained to hell with water buildup. The walk-in shower glass was so crusted with soap scum that she couldn't see through it. Borow kicked aside some of the laundry. This guy just didn't want to live. His whole house was pretty much a neckbeard nest waiting to encompass the yard.

Gregg had fallen asleep on the couch. Borow checked his pulse just to be sure he fell asleep and not otherwise. Wouldn't it hurt just to clean his house a little? She had caused this fox too much stress as it is and, according to him, she was an old friend. Maybe there was something buried in his things that would prove his claim. Borow threw the bedroom door wide open and gathered up all of his laundry and tossed them into the basket, pretty much stuffing it. Once that was all off the floor, she searched the drawers for spare bed sheets. Found at least one pair. She switched that with the ones on the bed and stuffed those into the washing machine. Gregg didn't have detergent, so she just ran the sheets on hot and set them for two hours.

The more tedious task was cleaning up all the trash in the living room and kitchen. Borow grabbed the trash can and just started piling junk into it. It smelled like swamp water. Gregg hadn't taken it out in weeks. She emptied the bag and tossed it in the garage. Borow kept some 30 gallon trash bags in her Tahoe. She grabbed some of them and fitted it in the can, then filled it up again. It took her two full bags to clean up all of the beer bottles and soda cans, along with the empty wrappers, pizza cartons and Chinese takeout. The smell stuck around, but at least the source was removed.

Borow stepped into the backyard. There was a shed at the corner of the property. Beat up and ready to fall apart. It must've been built by the previous owner hand hadn't been rebuilt. Inside was a lawn mower, a gas can, and a few extra tools. Everything was covered in dust and scratched up. Borow shined her flashlight into the can. The can had a cup of gasoline left. She sealed it up and tossed it back in its spot. No telling how old that gas was. It couldn't be trusted.

Borow checked on Gregg. He hadn't moved since she left him. Borow grabbed his arms and hoisted him onto his back, then hauled him in the bedroom. She pulled off his shoes and laid him out, making sure his head was resting on the pillow. Borow did one last patrol around the inside of the house. She checked the dressers for anything that could hold significance to this long lost childhood. Just clothes and junk. Borow he searched under the bed. Underneath was an old hunting rifle. She grabbed it and pulled the bolt back. It smelled like earth and old oil. The wood was cracking and the bolt was resisting her. He must've threw it under the bed and never gotten it out to use it for anything. The crossbow he had was under the bed too. The string had long since deteriorated but the stock was still intact.

Borow checked one last place, the nightstand. She opened the drawer and found a single photo. Three people. A fox, an orange cat, and a black cat. Borow shine her light on it. There she was, wearing a raglan shirt. She looked a bit fatter in it, and a little derpy. The other two showed a much younger Gregg and this Casey character. Everyone in the picture was having a good time for all she could tell. Happy, care-free. Borow closed her eyes. She couldn't remember any of it. Just a blank void. She put the photo back where she found it and closed the drawer.

**. . .**

Borow left the house not long after. She drove off to the gas station on the other side of the city. She first emptied her jerry cans into the gas tank, then filled up the rest of the tank up. Borow then refilled both jerry cans before latching them back into place on the roof.

She drove off to Donut Wolf where she ordered half a dozen donuts, then went to Taco Buck and ordered a large meal. With dinner on hand Borow drove back to the hotel and hauled everything into her room. She pretty much sat there and ate everything while watching the news. As usual, gas prices were expected to go up again and foreign affairs were even more shittier than before. Unemployment rate up. Inflation is rising. Tariffs. Trade wars. Yadee yadee yada.

Stuffed, Borow switched off the TV and leaned back on the pillow. Gregg's beaten up face was still stuck in her mind. The fox, who claimed to be an old friend that had been long forgotten, was one thing she hadn't expected tonight. She thought she was ready for everything, but instead got the most least expected encounter in her life. To be fair, she couldn't remember anything at all before her twenty-first birthday. Nothing, not a glimpse. Borow rolled onto her side. Every bone in her body yearned for the broken fox. Best not to see him again, ever. He didn't seem too stable. He was more of a liability than an asset. A friend who couldn't let go of the past was not a reliable friend to be with. Ever.

She closed her eyes and dug her nails into her pillow. The air conditioner hummed away as the beating heart of the city echoed over the motel. Borow pressed her nose against the fabric. Smelled like new hotel smell, but nothing was going to take the smell of Gregg's rundown house out of her nose. There was so much to think about. She shoved all those thoughts into the back of her mind and closed her eyes, she will get to them in the morning.


End file.
